You could slap his wrist for saying it, but then he said it with his face, and you could spank him for making faces, but then he said it with his eyes, and there were limits to correction-no way, in the end, to penetrate behind the blue irises and eradicate a boy's disgust.
….he grabs my wrists and pins my arms up above my head, locking them in one hand. "Are you mine?" he asks gruffly, as his hand returns between my thighs and briefly enters me. I gasp. Undone. Delirious. "I'm yours." His expression is tense, ravenous, so hot as he scrapes his finger deep into my channel. "Do you want me inside you?" My need clogs my windpipe as pleasure shoots down my legs. "I want you everywhere. All over me. Inside me.
Speaking of death, LeBlanc boasted he could kill me in the waiting room. I broke his wrist. He wasn't impressed.
The ideal woman which is in every man's mind is evoked by a word or phrase or the shape of her wrist, her hand. The most beautiful description of a woman is by understatement. Remember, all Tolstoy ever said to describe Anna Karenina was that she was beautiful and could see in the dark like a cat. Every man has a different idea of what's beautiful, and it's best to take the gesture, the shadow of the branch, and let the mind create the tree.
Do you know why they're called mok-gloves? Because they go up to your wrists(pal-mok).
We both liked the idea but couldn't figure out a way to get up to the roof. Vince had just seen the Spider-Man movie and suggested we shoot webs out of our wrists and swing up there. We asked Vince not to contribute any more ideas.
I'm usually pretty lame when it comes to physical activity, but I'm like a Jedi on the badminton court. It's as if my body was built specifically for it - tall and lanky, with wrists like mousetraps.
My tattoos say "Stay strong." "Stay" on one wrist and "strong" on the other. I'm able to look at them and be thankful for being alive.
If we were built, what were we built for? ... Why do we have this amazing collection of sinews, senses, and sensibilities? Were we really designed in order to recline on the couch, extending our wrists perpendicular to the floor so we can flick through the television's offerings? Were we really designed in order to shop some more so the economy can grow some more? Or were we designed to experience the great epiphanies that come from contact with each other and with the natural world?
She [Monica Seles] has so much control of the racket with those double-handed wrists.
My wrist deserve a shout out, 'I'm like what up wrist?' My stove deserve a shout out, 'I'm like what up stove?'
A really good picture looks as if it's happened at once. It's an immediate image. For my own work, when a picture looks labored and overworked, and you can read in it as well - she did this and then she did that; there is something in it that has not got to do with beautiful art to me. And I usually throw these out, though I think very often it takes ten of those over-labored efforts to produce one really beautiful wrist motion that is synchronized with your head and heart, and you have it, and therefore it looks as if it were born in a minute.
Where does the hand become the wrist? where does the neck become the shoulder? The watershed and then the weight, whatever turns up and tips us over that razor's edge between something and nothing, between one and the other.
In badminton, they use a lot from the wrist. But I use a lot from the shoulder.
Then forget Gabriel. Is there a particular reason you keep biting vampires?" Will touched the dried blood on his wrists, and smiled. "They don't expect it.
You sound as if you don't mind what happens to it," said Tessa. "Won't you miss it here? This place has been your home." His fingers stroked her wrist lightly, making her shiver. "You are home for me now.
She'd assumed she'd be married and have kids by this age, that she would be grooming her own daughter for this, as her friends were doing. She wanted it so much she would dream about it sometimes, and then she would wake up with the skin at her wrists and neck red from the scratchy lace of the wedding gown she'd dreamed of wearing. But she'd never felt anything for the men she'd dated, nothing beyond her own desperation. And her desire to marry wasn't strong enough, would never be strong enough, to allow her to marry a man she didn't love.
He was afraid of touching his own wrist. He never attempted to sleep on his left side, even in those dismal hours of the night when the insomniac longs for a third side after trying the two he has.
I know this is your hand now,' she tells him. "Roland would have never touched me like that." Connor smiles, and Risa takes a moment to look down at the shark on his wrist. It holds no fear for her now, because the shark has been tamed by the soul of a boy. No- the soul of a man.
In other words, my pot doesn't work?" "It doesn't have a pulse," he says. "I have a pulse." Kimmie offers her wrist. "Wanna check?
I curl up, make myself smaller, try to disappear entirely. Wrapped in silence, I slide my bracelet that reads 'mentally disoriented' around and around my wrist.
Silently, I lifted my doggy bowl off the floor. Then, with a quick, powerful flip of my wrist, I threw it into the back of Blondie’s head so hard that – with an earsplitting bang – it smashed flat before it ricocheted across the room and snapped the round top piece off the thick newel post at the foot of the stairs.
Reacher said, "So here's the thing Brett. Either you take your hand off my chest, or I'll take it off your wrist.
He picked up the wrench and broke the guy’s wrist with it, one, and then the other wrist, two, and turned back and did the same to the guy who had held the hammer, three, four. The two men were somebody’s weapons, consciously deployed, and no soldier left an enemy’s abandoned ordnance on the field in working order. The doctor’s wife was watching from the cabin door, all kinds of terror in her face. "What?" Reacher asked her.
She touched the healthy folds of skin around the baby's neck, wrists, and thighs, the dark lines crying for life made in his forehead, and thought how people start with wrinkles and end with wrinkles, grow into their skin and then live to grow out of it again.
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